


Love Of My Life || Ineffable Husbands fictober 2019

by AnironSidh



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Adam Young Ships Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Alpha Centauri - Freeform, Angel Crowley (Good Omens), Crepes, Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Day Four, Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Eden - Freeform, Female-Presenting Crowley (Good Omens), Fictober 2019, French Revolution, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Inktober, Live Aid, M/M, Multi, Nanny Crowley (Good Omens), One Shot Collection, Queen - Freeform, Stargazing, brother francis, by theladyflames and renblakely on twitter, crossover day three, ineffable fictober, reverse au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-11-09 01:40:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20845433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnironSidh/pseuds/AnironSidh
Summary: A collection of one shots based on the ineffable inktober/fictober prompts by theladyflames (tumblr and twitter) and renblakely (insta and twitter).1. At The Ritz. 2. Eden. 3. Crossover with Queen. 4. Reverse au, raising Warlock. 5. Alpha Centauri, stargazing. 6. Crepes with Adam. 7. Mesopotamia and the Ark





	1. Day 1: At The Ritz

Aziraphale closed his eyes as he remembered that day. Crowley had picked him up for dinner, just like usual, at 4. He’d driven far too fast for London streets (it shouldn’t have been surprising at all) and gotten to the Ritz in record time. Their usual table was miraculously free as it always was, of course. 

Something about Crowley was  _ off _ . Nothing bad, really, just slightly different. Aziraphale could tell that instantly. He'd known the demon for 6,000 years, after all. He obviously knew how the demon acted, especially when he was nervous. 

"Dear," he began casually, appearing to be choosing where to start on his plate. "Is something wrong? You seem uneasy today. Have I done something?"

Crowley froze, fork halfway to his mouth. "Um… ngk… 's fine, angel. Nothing's _ wrong _ , why would you… it's fine. All good." He glared at the food as if it had personally offended him. Aziraphale reached over, smiling when Crowley glanced at him. 

"Are you sure?"

Crowley shrugged, fiddling with something in his pocket. "Yeah. Like I said, it's fine, angel."

Well, something was definitely going on. It was nothing he would find out until Crowley eventually told him, at any rate. He would say  _ something _ if it was important. 

"Alright." Aziraphale turned back to his plate. "If you say so, dear."

The demon seemed much more relaxed now. He was still messing with  _ something _ in his pocket like he had been all evening, but still relaxed. He had become so much better with emotions and whatnot since the failed Armageddon, especially after confessing after their dinner at the Ritz that night. Nothing had really changed, and yet everything was different somehow. Crowley was so much more genuine now, much more free with his smiles and casual touches. 

He'd still been a little nervous that  _ one _ night, but no one needed to know except Aziraphale. He was allowed to be after 6,000 years of no more touching than was socially acceptable. Sue him. 

"How have the others been doing, then?" Aziraphale asked as he finished up his meal. "I haven't heard much."

Crowley shrugged. "Not much different, angel. Adam likes someone but he won't tell anyone who and I can't bloody read his mind. Antichrist defense mechanism, prob'ly. Visits book girl all the time. Think she and that witchfinder boy of hers are going to see her mum or something."

Aziraphale smiled. "Good. They're all happy, then." 

"Yeah. Course they are." 

Their dessert menu appeared then, which meant Aziraphale spent about twenty minutes deciding which one he wanted. Crowley's foot began to tap out a rhythm nervously underneath the table while he did, something coming out of his pocket and immediately being hidden in his hand. Aziraphale ordered and Crowley handed something to the waiter, whispering something in his ear. The waiter nodded and smiled before she hurried to the kitchen with her orders. 

"What was that, love?" Aziraphale asked as soon as Crowley returned to the table. 

The demon merely smirked. "You'll see, angel. 'S a surprise," was all he would say. 

The dessert arrived much faster than Crowley was ready for. The light reflected off of the top of the whipped cream pile, sending his tapping into overdrive. Aziraphale didn't so much as notice. He already had his fork ready when the cake was set down in front of him. 

Crowley took his eyes off of the cake for a split second and Aziraphale had eaten a fourth of the cake already. The metallic object on the top was nearly invisible, sinking into the whipped cream. 

"Angel, wait!" Aziraphale froze, the part of the cake with the whipped cream on his fork raised to his mouth. "Don't eat that bit, you ridiculous angel."

Aziraphale just looked confused and a bit angry now. "What's the meaning of this, Crowley?" He huffed. "It's a perfectly innocent cake."

Time stopped around them, quite literally with a snap from Crowley's fingers, as the demon pulled a ring from the cream and shook it off. Aziraphale's fork hit the table and bounced off when Crowley hit the floor on one knee and held the ring up with a heavy breath. He could do nothing but stare in shock. 

"Look, this was meant to go  _ so _ much smoother, angel, but you weren't supposed to eat the damn thing," he explained in a rush, breathed, and held the ring a little higher. "I know it's just some human custom, but we're on our own side now an' I thought you'd want to be… 'courted' properly or whatever like those romance novels you read, so. Um…"

Aziraphale finally managed a word, though it wasn't much more than nonsense. "My dear, what-“

Crowley shook his head. "Just, just hear me out, 'kay?" At the lack of response, he continued. "Okay. I'm sure you know how much I… how much I love you by now, so I don't gotta make a whole speech. I've spent six thousand bloody years chasing after you and I'm keeping you around for another six thousand if I can, so. Yeah, you know what's happening, so…. 

Aziraphale, will you marry me?“ he said all in a rush, holding the ring with shaking hands. 

They stayed there, frozen in time, as the question hung in the air. The angel stared down at the demon below him and at the shining ring. It wasn't anything overly decorative, just simple silver spun into an infinity symbol with a white wing on one side and a black one on the other side. 

Aziraphale reached forward to hold Crowley's cheek in his hands with a smile he hoped was confident but was probably more nervous. "Of course, love. Yes."

Crowley looked as if he could have fallen over before he managed to control the anxious shaking long enough to gently slide the ring onto his angel's outstretched finger. Aziraphale slowly pulled his sunglasses off and tugged him up into a kiss with all the emotion he couldn't hope to articulate. Crowley's hands found a handle on Aziraphale's hips that at least stopped the shaking. 

There was a burst of romance in the city that week, the aftershocks lasting months. It even stretched to Tadfield, according to rumours. 


	2. Day 2: Eden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Crowley ever saw Aziraphale and the first time Aziraphale saw Crowley in the Garden of Eden.   
Featuring an angel, a demon, a man with some fruit, and a few plot-convenient birds.

_ crowley _

When the only orders you were given were 'get up there and make some trouble' it left quite a lot of wiggle room. Hell was annoyingly vague. 

So Crawly wandered around the garden of Eden for as long as he wanted before he did whatever it was he was supposed to. It was nice, better than Hell at least, and somewhat relaxing. The humans were around somewhere. 

"Too quiet around here," he muttered. The only thing he could hear aside from his own breathing was the occasional movement of an animal. A bird above him looked down, chirped, and flew away at the snakish eyes as if it felt in danger. 

Crawly continued on through the sun-dappled garden. The peace was almost sickening in its perfection. He hadn't felt that kind of  _ divine perfection _ since before his Fall. 

Pity it wouldn't last long. 

"There they are, little buggers." Two dark-skinned figures sat in front of a peaceful pond, dipping their feet into the water. The woman laughed, a pure sound, and the man handed her a handful of berries. They looked calm. They couldn't know that they were the reason Lucifer had Fallen, refusing to love them as he loved Her, and how he had been followed by Raphael who had never meant to Fall. 

He was Crawly now, and that was fine. Perfectly fine, really. 

Adam left briefly only to come back with more fruits, piled onto a leaf. He must have gone to every tree in the garden. Well, all except one. 

Crawly smirked as he watched the two. "Well, that would certainly be troublesome. Tempt Her creation into sin… I wonder how hard it would be."

The demon watched the first humans for a few more minutes, then moved on. That was a job for another day. Hell could wait a little longer for their 'trouble'. 

Crawly pulled himself up into the tree in the center of Eden, swinging up to the upper branches. He plucked an apple from above and simply observed it. It was perfect, which made sense for the fruit that would give humanity the knowledge of good and evil. She must mean for it to happen, putting the bloody tree right in the middle of the garden. 

"Ah, there you go, my dear," a voice said from below. Crawly froze. 

_ Shit _ .

He slowly looked down to see a squirrel scurrying away after being helped over a log by…

An angel.

"I really shouldn't be distracted from my job, silly me." The angel sat on the log, right in front of where Crawly hid. He looked up, brushing a few light golden curls out of his eyes, somehow missing the hidden demon. His eyes were a wondrous shade of light blue, shining with a spark that sent something in Crawly's new heart skipping an unneeded beat. 

Something was different about him. Crawly wasn’t about to just jump down and say something before knowing he wouldn’t be smited on sight, but maybe soon. 

Maybe once  _ things _ start happening in the garden. It would give him a good opportunity to talk to the angel, at least. 

_ aziraphale _

It was quite an honor to be entrusted with the protection of Her greatest creation, obviously. The flaming sword was nice, if a but excessive. It mostly lay forgotten wherever his resting spot was the last time he sat down. 

Aziraphale, Principality of the Eastern Gate, just wished he didn’t need to be so  _ bored _ . Nothing happened in Eden besides Adam and Eve not doing much at all besides eating and laughing and just being together in general. It was a bit lonely for an angel. The other Guardians didn’t so much as spare him a glance, staying up on their places on the wall. They probably thought Aziraphale was odd for going into the Garden. 

They were informed on about the third day after Creation that the Adversary had entered the Garden, a demon from Hell. None of them had seen any of the demons since they Fell. Aziraphale wondered out loud once what they would be like before the other angel gave him a look that stopped him in his tracks. 

“Well, perhaps they could be nice,” he murmured to a bird that sat on a branch beside his head. “I don’t think all demons could be bad. Of course, Gabriel says they are, but what does he know?”

The bird chirped, then flew away. Aziraphale watched it go with a smile. He began wandering around the Garden, as he often did. He found Adam fetching fruits from a bush. 

“Hello,” the man greeted, grinning. “I have only seen you around, but no one else. I suppose they must be busy.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I presume so. I believe they are more interested in their work than the Garden. I trust everything is alright down here?”

Adam gestured to the pile of fruits. “Of course it is. We have all of this. It’s wonderful.” He picked one last fruit and walked off, humming aimlessly. He seemed perfectly happy in his ignorance. 

Then Aziraphale heard a different voice, one he hadn’t heard before. It was talking to something in a clearing just beside him. He climbed up a rock pile on the edge of the clearing, just to poke his head over enough to see. 

Well, not quite what (or who) he was expecting from a demon. 

Said demon was perched on the edge of a log, cradling a little dark bird in his hands and  _ singing _ to it. The starling stared up at him with an odd understanding. Aziraphale sat on a ledge in the rocks (that most likely hadn’t been there before) and rested his head on his hand to watch the little scene. The demon pushed a wave of red hair away from his face, revealing a smile that was one of the kindest thing Aziraphale had ever seen. 

“There, you silly bird,” the demon crooned. “Don’t go getting hurt again, alright? I’m too bad to be doing  _ good _ around her. Not exactly making trouble, now am I?”

The bird chirped and hopped onto the demon’s shoulder where it promptly curled its head into its wing to sleep. “Oh, really now. Save you once, now I’ll never get rid of you, silly bird.”

Aziraphale was smart enough to know that this demon must be the Adversary, sent to destroy all the good things around them, but still. He couldn’t be  _ all bad _ , not if he healed and sang to little birds who did nothing but fly out of their nest a little too early. 


	3. Day 3: Crossover (Queen)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is definitely not nervous about bringing Aziraphale to meet his human best friend. All he has to do is make sure Freddie doesn't scare the angel off.   
Easy, right?  
Crossover with Queen (mostly an excuse to combine two of my fave fandoms)

Of course Crowley wasn’t bloody nervous. Why should he be? Aziraphale was sitting in the Bentley beside him, chattering away about some new book he’d found. He hadn’t dressed up too much for once. Crowley made sure he had the right look for this kind of party. 

Theirs was the last car to arrive, pulling into the spot set aside for Crowley specifically. It was the same he always used when he visited the house (mansion was a bit more accurate). Aziraphale stepped out of the car and looked up at the lit-up house with a smile. Almost every light was on in the place, music coming from downstairs. 

“Well, I had no idea he did  _ this _ well for himself,” the angel remarked as they walked to the door. “Humans always seem to surprise me.”

Crowley shrugged. “Yeah, he just likes fancy shit like this. I promise he’s much calmer when he’s not onstage.”

No one answered the door on the first knock but the second brought hurried footsteps to the door. Aziraphale fixed his bowtie just before the door opened and Crowley stepped forwards, bringing the angel with him by the elbow. 

“You’re late, darling. I’m so glad you could make it!” Crowley didn’t even get a chance to reply before he had an armful of probably-drunk Freddie Mercury. Aziraphale, standing beside him, only laughed at the mans enthusiasm. Freddie looked him up and down for a moment, frowning. “You look tired, dear. I keep telling you to get some fucking sleep.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Too busy, Fred. Anyhow, that’s pretty rich, coming from you,” he shot back. Freddie laughed, stepping back to turn his inspection on a suddenly nervous Aziraphale. 

Freddie grinned, and  _ oh no _ . “You must be  _ Angel _ . He never shuts up about you, dear.”

“O-Oh,” was all Aziraphale could say. If glares could kill Freddie would be on the ground. 

“Don’t bully him, Fred,” Crowley said. “You’ve got a party on, yes? Could we get to that?”

Freddie pouted, which he really should know wouldn’t work on Crowley. “I’m not  _ bullying _ him, darling, just getting to know him. It’s really your fault for telling me so much, you know.” He didn’t talk about Aziraphale  _ that much _ , really. 

“Fred, party.” That got an eye roll, though Freddie did turn around and begin to lead them into the house. “Surprised that worked. I was about to do something to Red Special and blame it on you.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Freddie replied, though he sounded almost scared. 

Crowley grinned. “Would to.”

Aziraphale laughed softly, turning to Crowley with a smile. “You two seem to be quite good friends. It’s nice, dear.”

Freddie shot them a smirk at that endearment and Crowley returned a glare of his own. “Yeah, something like that. More like he annoys me because the other three would kill him if he kept bothering them.”

“Those three love me, Anthony,” the man shot back. “There’s a reason we stole the entire fucking show today. David’s properly pissed about it.” He definitely sounded far too gleeful about that fact. 

Said three were sitting in the living room in a corner, debating something about a concert. Freddie strutted up to them and flicked one on the back of the head with an, “Oi, poodle. Look who’s here!”

“Hey, it’s  _ Angel _ ,” the blond crooned, in the same stupidly sweet tone Freddie had used earlier. Aziraphale looked over at Crowley with a confused look while the demon was attempting to glare a hole into Roger’s head. Brian and John at least had the decency to be somewhat polite, waving and moving over to make space. 

“Roger, I will throw you out that window.”

Freddie flopped into a seat, groaning. “Don’t do that, darling. Jim will absolutely murder me if one of my parties damages the house.”

John muttered something that sounded almost like, “ _ whipped. _ ” He managed to avoid the glass tossed at his head, smirking. 

“He’s not wrong, Fred.” Crowley shrugged. “Can’t you children behave? You’re embarrassing me.”

Aziraphale snorted, nursing a glass of wine. “Dear, you do that to yourself.”

“I do not!” 

“Paris,” the angel said simply. “Your hair, specifically. Absolutely atrocious.”

Freddie barked out a laugh. “He’s got you there, darling. How bad was it?”

“It was in style,” Crowley whined at the same time Aziraphale said, “Ridiculous. Three silly curls and a little ponytail in the back. I’m sure he thought it was quite fetching.” 

Was Crowley embarrassed when all four of them started laughing along with Freddie? Yeah, a bit. The hairstyle  _ had _ been fashionable. Albeit in 1793 among the French rebels, but still. It had looked good back then and no one arrested  _ him _ for looking too posh. Aziraphale was one to talk. His looks were worse, all fancy and about two hundred years behind once they passed the bloody  _ 1800s _ . Really, it wouldn’t kill Aziraphale to wear something different once. 

Then again, it was making the others happy. Freddie and Roger had all but collapsed as Aziraphale described the worst of Crowley’s looks over the years. It had been a long day, that he could see in the band’s eyes, but now they seemed as energetic as they had when they bounded onto the Wembley stage that morning. Crowley had watched from backstage as they ruled the crowd, wishing Aziraphale was there too, even if he would just laugh and call it ‘bebop’ again. 

“You’re ruining my reputation, angel,” he said halfheartedly. “They’ll never respect me at all now.”

Freddie rolled his eyes, reaching over to good naturedly shove the demon. “What reputation, darling? There’s not much of one, I’m afraid.”

“Oi, rude.”

The six of them were in their own little bubble for the rest of the night until the rest of the band began to leave, kids and wives waiting at home. Crowley watched Aziraphale say goodbye to John out by the bassists car. He didn’t even notice that Freddie was standing right behind him until the singer was already talking. 

“So, that’s your angel. You’re very different,” he remarked softly. “I can see why you’d love him.”

_ What? _

Crowley shook his head. “Fred, it’s not…” he paused, struggling to find an easy way to explain it without giving either of them away. “We can’t. Sort of an opposite sides thing, y’know. We’d both get in trouble for it.”

Freddie watched Aziraphale for another moment, smiled, and then used an arm around Crowley’s shoulders to pull him closer. “Promise me that you’ll tell him one day, Anthony. I think you two have something special. Don’t waste it, darling.”

“I won’t.”

Aziraphale turned back and smiled, his eyes twinkling, and Crowley’s heart squeezed yet another countless time in almost six thousand years. 

It would take close to 35 years, but Crowley did keep his promise made to Freddie Mercury that night. He looked up at the stars the night after he finally told Aziraphale how he felt, found the brightest one, and thanked that one human that knew him better than any other human did. He found a record, laughed when  _ Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy _ began to play and held out his hand to his angel for a dance. 


	4. Day 4: Reverse au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Azirafell take their charge, Warlock, for a picnic away from the Dowling household where he can relax away from his parents. A nice little picnic and a soccer game might be just what they all need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm calling it soccer because I've lived in the states my whole life and calling it football just feels wrong (especially because I go to the football game every Friday because of being in the marching band).

“An’ then I took it back cause George is stupid an’ I told on him so now he’s in  _ trouble _ ,” Warlock reported with a grin. 

Crowley pulled on his hand and shook her head. “We don’t call other children stupid, Warlock,” she scolded, light enough that the boy wouldn’t be hurt. “Remember to be kind, not cruel.”

Azirafell snickered. “Oh, don’t be so hard on the lad,” he said, swinging the picnic basket. “I think he did well.”

“You bloody would,” she shot back. Azirafell only laughed and Warlock began on another story from the playdate his parents had arranged. The children there were mostly spoiled brats of friends of the Dowlings. They both knew that Warlock, who was more theirs than his parents at this point, didn’t like any of the kids. He preferred to romp around the gardens with Azirafell, asking questions about every single thing he saw, or with his nanny. 

All in all, a quite normal child. 

They could only hope that he would be normal enough in six years to  _ not _ start Armageddon like he was meant to. Crowley couldn’t bear to think of what would happen if he didn’t. She couldn’t ever harm a single hair on her boy’s head (and he  _ was _ hers, in a way). Azirafell wouldn’t be able to either. As annoyed as the demon acted, he did love the boy just as much as Crowley did. 

“Ah, this spot looks quite lovely,” Azirafell said as he put the basket down beneath a large tree. They were on the edge of the Dowlings property, just far enough for Warlock to feel a little more free than he did in the shadow of that house. 

Crowley unfolded the blanket they had brought, adjusted her skirt, and sat down to begin setting the food out. “Nanny, come and play!” Warlock called, bouncing a soccer ball on his knees. Azirafell stood, brushed off his trousers, and walked over to the boy with a smile. 

“How about I play with you, dear boy? I think your nanny is tired and she wants to set out our delicious lunch.” He knelt beside the boy with a sneaky sort of grin. “Between you and me, I think she’s never liked sports much. Too much dirt.”

Warlock giggled. “That’s cause she’s too nice for messy stuff.”

“I can hear both of you, you know,” she called. Azirafell stuck his tongue out at her ( _ rude!) _ and Warlock laughed again and began kicking the ball around. He didn’t notice when a net was suddenly there at the perfect spot for him to kick the ball in. 

Crowley watched with a fond smile as Azirafell pretended to try to block the boy, making a fake angry face when Warlock kicked it past him with a triumphant cheer. That was how he usually acted, not just around the boy. Azirafell always tried to act, well, like a demon. That was always the impression that humans got from him. It helped when someone got too pushy trying to buy a book. They rarely tried again. 

He was a terrible demon, though. Crowley saw his soft streak every time he got a cup of cocoa, or found good crepes somewhere, or a book he’d been coveting, or when Warlock brought him a flower he found and asked if Nanny would like it. He was  _ soft _ , which could get him into trouble with Hell just as Crowley’s occasional nastiness would only lead to trouble with Gabriel. They were lucky the other archangel hadn’t ever discovered their secret. Every time he dropped in ‘just to check on you, brother’ Crowley nearly had a heart attack (that is, if he could have one).

“Get over here before the drinks get warm,” she called. “I believe we’re here for a picnic, not just soccer.”

Warlock gave a frankly theatrical groan, kicking the soccer ball one last time, and trudged over. He flopped onto the picnic blanket with a sigh. Crowley leaned over to ruffle his hair and hand him a sandwich and a juice box from the basket. Azirafell stole one, reaching around her so that he could grab it before he could be stopped. She swatted his hand, albeit halfheartedly, and shot him a look. 

Warlock giggled. “You haveta  _ ask _ , Brother Francis. Nanny says so when I do that. S’not fair if she lets you do it but not me,” he said, beginning to whine at the end. 

“You take something if you really want it.” Crowley glared at him again. “What?”

Warlock shrugged, drinking the juice box in one go and reaching out for another. “It’s not polite though. Nanny _ says _ so.” Crowley handed him a new juice box with a smirk at the demon, who scowled back at her. 

The three of them settled into their spot until the basket was empty and the bottle of wine Crowley had brought was all gone. Azirafell picked up the soccer ball and began tossing it from one hand to the other. He looked serious, as if he was studying it. 

“It’s just a ball,” she muttered. “No reason to stare at the bloody thing.”

He shot a look back at her, gesturing in front of them. “Don’t swear in front of Warlock. He’ll repeat it to his parents and I’d rather not have to find another way to keep doing  _ our job _ .”

“Look at him,” she whispered, holding his face for a moment to move it. “The little dear’s asleep. He’s exhausted from the day he’s had.”

Warlock was indeed fast asleep, curled up on the blanket with his arms under his head. Crowley picked him as quietly as she could to pull him closer where he immediately curled into her side in his sleep. 

Azirafell reached over to brush the boy’s hair back, looking almost pained. “It’s quite difficult to imagine what he’s supposed to do when he grows up. I can’t see this little boy, just sleeping on a picnic blanket because he’s tired from kicking a ball about, ending the world.”

Crowley ran her hands through Warlock’s hair with a sigh. “If we’ve done our jobs right then he won’t start Armageddon. He’ll say no and just go about his life. I’m sure he will. Warlock… He cares, which looking at his parents is surprising. He won’t end the world. He’s ours, Zira, and he wouldn’t do that to us. I have to believe that.”

“Course you do,” he murmured. “You’re an angel.”

She could have kissed him, which probably wouldn’t appropriate considering the five year old sleeping right there, but that  _ would _ be going too fast. One day, definitely. Once the whole Armageddon thing was over, then maybe a dinner at the Ritz and finally a confession. One day, once Heaven and Hell wouldn’t come after them for  _ ‘fraternizing’ _ . 

One day. 


	5. Day 5: Alpha Centauri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley take a trip out of the city for a picnic and some stargazing.

Crowley pulled the Bentley over, making sure it would be safe there, and reached into the backseat for the picnic basket. Aziraphale had already gotten out by the time Crowley had the basket in his hand. He looked around them, smiling. 

“You’ve found quite the nice spot, love,” Aziraphale said. Crowley took a moment to melt internally over the endearment before he even tried to speak. 

“Ngk,” was the eloquent answer. “Yeah, I like to come here and think sometimes.”

It’s a spot not too far outside of London, far enough that the sky can be seen much more clearly than in the city. Crowley found it by accident on his way home from an assignment back in the 20’s and stopped there for a few hours. It was calm, a nice place to sort out his thoughts. He’d camped out in the spot for about a month back in 1967 after Aziraphale told him he was going too fast. 

It’s a nice spot, is what he’s getting at. 

Aziraphale held out the blanket in his arms and gestured forwards. “Shall we?”

Crowley led them to a spot at the top of the hill, dropped the basket there and himself onto the blanket the second Aziraphale laid it out. The angel made an almost offended noise at the demon messing the blanket up. 

“Really, dear, couldn’t you have waited?” he muttered. Crowley laid his head in his angel’s lap and smiled up at him with a look he knew would calm Aziraphale right down, which it did. 

“Nope.”

The wine was the first thing to come out of the basket, obviously, along with two glasses. They drank more than they ate. Crowley had packed leftovers he knew the angel would love, but those didn’t last them very long. 

They were both laying down now, Crowley’s head still in Aziraphale’s lap and the angel’s fingers running through his hair. He’d grown it out after the Notpocalypse. Aziraphale’s mouth looked like it was about to hit the floor when Crowley walked into the bookshop with hair down to his shoulders. 

“It’s so nice to be able to see the stars,” Aziraphale whispered. “I’ve missed seeing them.”

Crowley frowned, his grip on the angel’s arm tightening. “Yeah. ‘S nice.”

Aziraphale noticed it, because of course he did, and brushed the hair away from Crowley’s face with a painfully worried look and  _ okay that’s just not fair when he looks like that _ . 

“What’s wrong, love? Should we go home?” He made a movement to stand until Crowley pulled his back down with a shake of his head. 

“No, angel. Just…” he trailed off. “Seeing ‘em reminds of Before, you know. When I was Upstairs, Downstairs wasn’t even a thing really. Back when I was making the bloody things up there.”

_ Images flash through his mind. Images of starlight flying from his fingertips, falling to become stars or being forced together for larger ones. He remembers flying through the cosmos, flinging stars wherever he wished. He remembers an angel with white-blond hair who he brought into the stars one day. He remembers, really remembers, cupping their hands together to form a dual star made for just the two of them _ .

Aziraphale was still running his hands through his hair when he opened his eyes again. “Crowley?”

“‘M fine.” He pointed up above them to a star brighter than the others around it. “Look, angel. See it?”

“Yes. Is that-”

“Alpha Centauri,” he whispered. “Yeah, that’s it. I remember making it, one of the last one before good ol’ Mummy threw me out.” He could hear his voice going bitter at the end. “I suppose you don’t.”

Aziraphale looked confused. “Remember what, dear?”

Crowley sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “Making it with me, together. We flew up there and just… you wanted me to show you how. Then that happened, somehow. ‘S two stars, actually, just too close for humans to see down here.”

“Just like us, I suppose,” the angel answers. “That close since the Beginning.”

Oh, well. He’d never thought of it that way before. It was a pretty star, sure, and one with painful memories of the archangel he’d been or an escape plan when all else seemed lost. But to hear it phrased that the star represented the two beings who’d created it, two beings attached to each other practically at the hip since the younger had been created… Alpha Centauri was far more special than humans would ever know.

“Never thought of it like that,” he said quietly. 

Aziraphale reached for his hands, intertwining them together. “Do you remember everything from before the Fall?”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Pretty much everything, angel. Unfortunately, for some things. Wish I didn’t remember Falling.”

“Oh,” came the quiet response. “I suppose there are good things too, dear.”

“Suppose so.” Crowley reached up with his free hand to cup Aziraphale’s cheek. “I remember being with my siblings before everything went to shit. Gabriel wasn’t always such a dick, you know. They were all nice in the beginning. I think you’re the only angel that didn’t turn into such an ass. The only good one up there, y’know.”

Aziraphale stared down at him, eyes wide. “Dear… They can’t all be… I’m not that special, Crowley.”

The demon shot up and pointed to the star above them with a force that shocked Aziraphale. “Bullshit. You helped make that, angel. You made a fucking star, something that was only meant to be something I could do and no one else but you did it anyways. That’s amazing, whether you see it or not. You’re fucking amazing. I don’t give a shit what Gabriel says.”

“There’s no point in trying to convince you otherwise, is there?”

“Nope,” Crowley said, leaning down over Aziraphale with an arm on either side of his head. “And I’ll keep reminding you of it for another six thousand blessed years if I have to, angel.”

Aziraphale laughed softly. “If you say so, love,” he said before grabbing the demon and pulling him down. “Let’s make use of this lovely spot, shall we? Lots of  _ privacy _ .”


	6. Day 6: Crepes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam visits London and is taken for crepes and a story about a revolution and a hungry angel.

They were lounging in the backroom of the bookshop, as peaceful as could be really, when the front door slammed open. Aziraphale, who was certain he’d locked it, snapped it shut again and leaned over to see who managed to get past his wards. Crowley didn’t even move his head from its spot in Aziraphale’s lap

“C’mon, that was a bit much,” Adam grumbled as he shifted his backpack. “I just wanted to stop by.”

Crowley finally opened his eyes not unlike a cat waking up from being petted for hours. “Oh, Adam. Tadfield too boring for you?”

The boy; well, more like a teenager as he was thirteen years old now and acted about seventeen; shrugged. “Thought I’d come by since I’ve got time. Pep went with her parents to Spain or something and Wenslydale’s camping with Brian. They  _ abandoned _ me.”

“Really,” Crowley snorted. “You four don’t have to be attached at the blessed hip, Adam. It’s called growing up.”

Adam fell back into the armchair with a dramatic sigh. Aziraphale miracled a soda in from the kitchen in the flat above to the boys hand. He resumed his absentminded braiding of Crowley’s hair as Adam guzzled down the soda. He pulled a phone out of his pocket, tapping away at it for a few minutes before he looked up at the other two. He saw his self-proclaimed godfathers quite often now, usually when they visited him in Tadfield or occasionally in London. Sometimes having an actual angel and demon for godfathers was weird, mostly when they did stuff like miracle things into the room or whatever else they didn’t feel like moving for, but most of the time it was mostly normal. They just sat around pretty much on top of each other for the most part and helped him with anything he asked for. 

“Are you hungry, Adam?” Aziraphale asked, smiling warmly. Crowley looked just about asleep again with how blissful he seemed. Adam watched the two of them for a minute before he answered. 

“Kinda,” he said with a shrug. “I had a bowl of cereal at home since Mom’s away for the weekend. Something for work, I think.”

Crowley groaned in protest when Aziraphale moved, sitting up with a glare. “How about we go find something to eat? It’s a nice enough day outside,” he offered, rolling his eyes at the demon. 

Adam stood and slung his backpack back onto his shoulder. “Sure. Sounds like fun.” Crowley complained a few more times as he got up, snapping to restore his clothes to their usual condition. The messy braid stayed in, of course. He wouldn’t dare destroy something Aziraphale had done. 

The three were soon walking down the street towards  _ somewhere _ Aziraphale was leading them, Crowley sauntering along beside his angel and Adam slouching as he walked. 

“Angel, there  _ are _ other things to eat,” Crowley muttered when they stopped in front of a cart by a nearby park. 

Adam looked up, confused. “It’s just crepes.” He really didn’t see what the issue was. Maybe Crowley just didn’t like them, but Adam did. His mom made them sometimes on the weekends when she felt like it. The ones from the cart looked fancier, but that was all. 

Aziraphale pouted. “They’re  _ good _ . I thought Adam would enjoy them. You don’t eat very often anyways, dear, if you don’t want crepes,” he shot back. Adam watched the ‘argument’ with a grin. Their spats were usually about silly stuff like this, or something being put back in the wrong place. They never really fought, per say. 

“I’d love crepes,” Adam added, partially because he knew Aziraphale would win that argument. Crowley groaned, mostly just for drama at this point, and trudged forward. That facade lasted for about thirty seconds until the angel leaned up to kiss him on the cheek before he ordered their food. Adam laughed, earning a  _ look _ . 

Aziraphale returned, crepes in hand, and the trio resumed their walk. Crowley seemed a little happier when they stopped by a duck pond in the park. 

“What’s your issue with crepes?” Adam asked as Crowley threw tiny pieces of crepe at a duck. 

Crowley jerked his head towards Aziraphale. “That angelic idiot nearly lost his blessed head over them, that’s my issue.”

Said angelic idiot scoffed. “It was not  _ that _ bad, Crowley. Really.”

“Tell me. I wanna know this story,” Adam chirped with a  _ very _ mischievous grin. 

“They teach you lot about the French Revolution yet?”

Adam nodded. “A bit, sure. Probably enough.” Sometimes it was really useful to have godfathers that had lived through the history instead of some dusty old book written forever ago by some random old guy. He had a direct source Except for stuff like the dinosaurs. Crowley just laughed and said it was a joke that humans hadn’t seen yet. 

Crowley grinned. “Good. Anyways, this idiot-”  _ ‘Hey!’ _ “- apparently decided he needed crepes back in 1793. Course, there were perfectly good places to get the things in England, where there was a bloody revolution going on, but he couldn’t just do the easier thing.”

“They’re better in France,” Aziraphale muttered into his crepe. Adam and Crowley ignored him, obviously. 

“Alright,” Crowley continues. “So he goes across to bloody France, where he definitely has to know what’s going on there, and gets arrested right away. You know who they were goin’ after, right?”

Adam tossed a piece of crepe into the pond too. “Yeah. Nobles and rich people, stuff like that. They cut the king’s head off cause he was too fancy.”

Aziraphale was still sulking behind them as he finished his crepe. 

“Yeah. Zira, because he  _ has standards _ wore the fanciest outfit outside of the royal court, probably. I don’t know how he was surprised that they arrested him right away, as decked out as he was. The bloody shoes were probably worth more than a peasant would earn in his life, the jacket could not have had any more ruffles and it was just ridiculous.”

Adam looked back behind them. Aziraphale sighed, though he’s smiling at Crowley when the demon can’t see him. “And then?”

Crowley laughed, grinning roguishly. “I rescued him, of course. There’s this sort of sixth sense when he’s gotten himself into deep trouble again that led me there. He’s locked in a cell in the Bastille, never does anything by halves, trying to say that Head Office sent him a rude note for too many miracles.”

“‘My lot doesn’t send rude notes’,” Aziraphale mocks from behind. “I suppose you were trying to be the perfect hero, weren’t you?”

“Just didn’t want to lose you to a bloody pastry, angel,” the demon muttered. “Yeah, anyhow, got him out just in time. Not like he stopped getting into stupid trouble.”

Aziraphale huffed. “I do not.”

“1941, Nazis, the Blitz. Ringing any bells?”

This new ‘argument’ lasted all the way back to the bookshop. Adam watched with amusement as he finished up his own crepe, ready to get back home to tell his friends this latest story. They might make a new game from it too. The Them had not yet played a game based on the  _ French _ Revolution, after all. 


	7. Day 7: Mesopotamia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley smuggled something onto the ark, twenty little human somethings, and Aziraphale isn't sure what to think about the demon now.

Aziraphale flew to higher ground once the waters began to rise above the town he’d been staying in. It wasn’t something he wanted to see, anyways. He would rather not watch all those people drown, no matter if it was part of Her plan or not. Crawly had left almost right after their meeting at the ark, flying off in anger. Aziraphale hadn’t seen him since. He would be alright, of course. 

The worry over a demon, especially one he had only met a handful of times, was another thing he really didn’t want to think about. Heaven wouldn’t like it. 

Something flashing by caught his attention. Something dark, a high noise, then nothing. Aziraphale pulled his wings out of their usual realm and flew up into the air towards the ark. Whatever it was had flown in that direction. 

“What on earth…” Luckily, no one was on the deck. The eight humans seemed to be below deck where they had been the entire time so far, and yet muddy footsteps began halfway across the deck and down into the ark. One larger pair and at least five or six smaller sets surrounding them. Aziraphale walked along beside them until he was almost at the bottom of the boat. He passed most of the pairs of animals, most of them fast asleep, before he began to hear voices somewhere ahead. 

“I wanna go back,” a child whined. “I want Mama. Why can’t we go back.”

Another child began crying. “Mama!”

The next voice, an older one this time, froze Aziraphale in his tracks. “Just stay here, okay? You can’t go home yet. Not until the water’s gone, okay?”

He knew that voice, had heard it just after the rain started, furious that Heaven would let children drown. It seemed he hadn’t been able to just sit around and watch like Aziraphale had resigned himself to. 

He peeked around the corner. Twenty children, from barely-walking to nearly adults, sat surrounded by black feathered wings keeping them together. Crawly sat in the middle, holding a few of the smallest close to his body. One curled into his side was crying with her tiny hands holding onto his black robes as tight as she could. The boy that had asked to go home a moment ago looked behind his shoulder and stood, caught by the corner of an extended wing as he did. 

“Hey, who’s that?”

Crawly’s head shot up. “Aziraphale? What are you doing here?” He curled his wings tighter around the group of children, as if he thought the angel wouldn’t notice. 

“I thought I saw someone flying in,” he said, walking up to the group slowly. “I won’t alert them, if you’re worried about that. I’m just surprised to see you doing something like this, Saving children.”

Crawly scoffed. “M being very evil here, angel. Going against Her plan, aren’t I? If your lot wants them all… gone, then I’m going to save them.”

“Of course.”

One of the kids tugged at the demon’s sleeve. “I’m hungry. Can we eat something? Please?”

Crawly looked around, clearly thinking of some kind of idea. “Just let me find something, okay? There’s gotta…” he tightened his grip. “I’m sure there’s something.”

Aziraphale snapped his fingers and a pile of apples appeared in front of him. The oldest of the children quickly began to pass the fruit out. One even pulled a sharp rock from their pocket to cut a few apples up for the youngest. Crawly helped the ones closest to him eat, bouncing the smallest in his arms as he did. Aziraphale watched with a fond smile. 

He’d been told that demons would be cruel, mean, would want to hurt him if they could. Gabriel must have been lying, or he had never known Crawly at all. This particular demon had never even seemed to think about so much as touching him the wrong way. He was mashing up apples for a  _ toddler _ , for Heaven's sake! There were children surrounding him, laughing despite their situation, playing games with each other. 

“How did you get them all on here, Crawly?” Aziraphale looked around at all  _ twenty _ children. “What about their parents?”

The demon shrugged, put the child in his arms in a more comfortable position so they could sleep, and sighed. “Some of the older ones were trying to run away because their  _ parents would rather they stay and drown _ ,” he hissed. “I had to do  _ something _ , Aziraphale. I will not let the ‘good side’ get away with something like this. Not again.”

Aziraphale smiled as a younger boy climbed up into his lap. “And the younger ones?”

“Took a bit more effort,” Crawly replied. “Some of their parents didn’t want them to go, which was understandable I guess, but I got some of them. Took a few trips and waiting for someone to leave them be…”

“You  _ abducted _ children?” Aziraphale gasped. Of course he should have expected something like that. Crawly was a demon, after all, but somehow it didn’t seem odd. He meant good, in his own way, at least. 

Crawly’s wings around the children drew tighter, the demon hugging the young girl in his arms just a bit closer. 

“How else was I suppose to save them, angel? They wanted to go but their parents just thought it would be a, a little storm. This one,” he patted the back of them one in his arms. “This one was left sitting on top of a tree. I think her parents put her there to be safe, they must have, but that tree could barely hold her. The other little ones were siblings of the older ones, mostly. They just followed the older ones.”

Aziraphale brought in a few loaves of bread from the store room. “For later.” He passed them out to the older ones for safekeeping until the morning. “I suppose I’ll have to stick around. To thwart you, of course. I could make sure these kids end up as good people, you know.”

Crawly snorted. “They might turn out to be evil, you know. Tax collectors or something, perfectly ready for my side.”

“Of course.” Aziraphale brought his wings out again, surrounding the children on the other side and finishing the circle Crawly was creating. He meant it, he did have to stay to make sure the children were safe until they were back on dry land. 

Of course it was just that. No more, obviously. They would continue to stay on their respective sides. 


	8. Day 8: Ice Cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Them go out for Ice Cream, and Adam has his own non-Antichrist related issues. Love issues, you know.

The Them could have had ice cream every day if they could, even in the winter. The local shop only had a few flavors. They’d gotten mint chocolate chip in not long ago, which had been nice, but all four of them wanted to try as many as they could. 

Going to London was one of their favorite things to do. Now that Adam could drive, the first one to be able to and to get a car, the group traveled into the city whenever they wanted. 

Four teenagers in a car, however, was not the best idea. “Adam, slow down!” Pepper scolded, reaching forward to swat him. “You’re going to get us all killed. I’d like to make it to uni, you know.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “Chill, Pep. We’ll get to the bloody bookshop in one piece.” He shoved another handful of chips into his mouth from one of the bags belonging to the stash at his feet. Wenslydale, sitting in the backseat with Pepper, had his own supply of snacks. The other three still teased him that his mum made his snacks. 

“I’ll be fine,” Adam replied. “This car wouldn’t  _ dare _ crash.”

He patted the dashboard with a smile. He’d gotten the car the day he could drive as a present from Crowley, who had insisted that he have ‘a bloody nice car’. The car wouldn’t crash because the demon had threatened it and expected it to keep those inside safe and so it would simply because he believed it would. 

They did arrive at the bookshop in one piece. Adam swung the car, almost literally, into the parking spot that was always ready for him. Pepper got out the second she could, muttering about something. She knocked on the bookshop door. It opened seemingly on it’s own as soon as Adam walked up to it. It always did that, probably something Aziraphale had set up to let him in but keep unwanted customers out. 

“Are they here?” Brian asked, looking around at the quiet bookshop. 

Adam knocked as hard as he could on the door to the flat upstairs. “Sure. Just give them a moment. Crowley said they’d be ready, probably just got distracted.”

Loud footsteps pounded down the stairs. Adam stepped back as the door swung open, grinning at the demon standing on the other side with a tartan blanket wrapped around him and mussed up hair. Definitely  _ distracted _ all right.

“Rude to barge in like this,” said demon muttered, shifting the blanket to cover his neck. “Didn’t think you lot would get here so bloody quick.”

Brian laughed. “You know how Adam drives. He could  _ drive _ to America in an hour if he wanted to, I think. Probably would, to visit his boyf-ow!” Adam’s elbow suddenly jabbed itself into Brian’s side hard enough to sting. Crowley rolled his eyes, muttered something about being ready soon, and disappeared back up the stairs. 

“It’s a but rude to interrupt them,” Wenslydale said from behind them. 

Adam snorted, falling into a soft armchair. “Don’t worry. They’ll be back at it the second we drive away, like celestial bunnies.”

“Ew.”

“Wait until you’ve stayed the night and have to get up in the middle of the night to piss,” Adam shot back. “They forgot to sound block the hallway. I have never wanted to be able to teleport more in my entire  _ life _ .”

Crowley and Aziraphale reappeared downstairs a few moments later, still adjusting their clothing. Adam’s wink got him a glare from the demon as they were led out of the bookshop. Adam only laughed. 

“Where are we going, then?”

Aziraphale turned back with a smile. “I thought some ice cream would be nice. I hear that shop nearby has  _ thirty _ flavors.” The four teenagers erupted into cheers. 

“Of course you four would love that,” Crowley muttered. “Bloody children still. Thought you’d be acting almost like adults by now.”

The shop around the corner was miraculously quiet, almost nobody inside except a handful of families. Adam led the other three to the counter, nearly hopping over it in their enthusiasm. They returned to the table with as much ice cream as the four of them could carry. Crowley waited until they were all engrossed in the food before he said anything, smirking. 

“So, what was Brian about to say earlier?” he asked, casual as could be. “Boyfriend, maybe? You should be telling us things like this, Adam. I’m almost betrayed.”

Adam spit out his ice cream in surprise, coughing. “Don’t worry about that. Brian doesn’t know what he’s talking about, just something stupid. I don’t have a bloody boyfriend, or girlfriend, or anything, so it’s fine.”

Pepper sipped her soda, smirking at him. “Right, so that’s why you went on that trip to America. Just for fun. Not like anyone lives over there that you could visit. Course not, that would be silly.”

“Who is it, Adam?” Azirapahale asked softly. “You can tell us things, you know. I believe that’s what godfathers and friends are for, dear.”

“S’nothing,” Adam muttered. He grabbed at another ice cream, staring into it as if the dessert could tell him what to do. “I’ve got it. I’m allowed to have friends outside of this group that are special, you know. It’s fine. There’s nothing anyone could do, anyways, so leave it. I’ve got it figured out, actually.”

Wenslydale offered him a spoonful of his ice cream with a smile. “Try this then, Adam. They combined strawberry and chocolate, like we’ve wanted for  _ forever _ . I promise we won’t bother you about this anymore, okay?”

Adam nodded gratefully. “Thanks, Wens. I didn’t mean to get like that, I just… I’m trying to figure it out. Not easy, you know, bein’ so far away.”

Each teenager held two ice cream cones as they strolled back to the bookshop, laughing about whatever it was they liked to talk about. Aziraphale and Crowley walked along behind them, arm in arm, as close as they could be without being in each other’s literal pockets. The Them were distracted when they got back, sitting in a kitchen miracled to stay clean from any stray ice cream drips. 

“How about we go back up, angel,” Crowley whispered. “I’d like to get back to what we were doing before we were interrupted.”

Aziraphale offered out his arm. “Lead the way, dear.”

Not one of those downstairs even noticed they had left. 


	9. Day 9: Bookshop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little spark brings back painful memories of a much bigger fire for Crowley, something he's never told Aziraphale about that finally comes out.

After Adam restored everything back to normal neither of them brought up what had happened. They had both survived the wrath of Heaven and Hell, thanks to a witch and her professional descendant, and there didn’t seem to be much of a reason for bringing it all up again. Everything was fine. 

There also wasn’t much discussion about the fact that Crowley practically lived in the bookshop and the flat above. Aziraphale, obviously, didn’t mind having the demon around nearly all the time. They could be with each other whenever they wanted now. 

In the end, it was a candle that brought it all out into the open. 

The two of them were sitting across from each other in the bookshop, silent. Crowley was curled up in an armchair watching the reading angel across from him. They had been there for a few hours, waiting until the evening to go to dinner somewhere. Aziraphale had picked up a new (actually brand new) book he’d left sitting the previous night and simply hadn’t needed to move for hours. It was nice, this simple existence around each other. 

“Angel,” Crowley whispered. “Don’t drift off too far. We have dinner plans, remember?”

Aziraphale hummed in agreement, looking up to smile at his demon. “I remember, dear. I’m almost finished with this book anyhow.” He tuned back into his book after checking the candle beside his chair. Crowley never understood why he still used candles for light but somehow it just seemed the Aziraphale thing to do. Old-fashioned, just how he did most things. As long as he’s happy, Crowley supposed. 

He’d just drifted off when a popping sort of sound startled him awake. The candle’s flame was higher now, popping sparks off around it. Crowley felt frozen to the couch as one spark arced through the air to land on a page of the book held up by Aziraphale’s finger. 

Why was it so hard to  _ move _ ? His body felt underwater, out of his control. 

“Angel!”

As the spark began to catch all Crowley could only see  _ burning pages fluttering through the acrid air, flames crawling up the bookshelves as if in a race to burn the entire place down, his own pant leg catching for a moment, the roof collapsing and just fire, fire everywhere taking everything from him… _

Aziraphale looked up from putting out the singed corner of the book and the candle to see Crowley half out of his chair reaching forward, his mouth open as if screaming words only he could hear. “Crowley?” he asked, receiving no response. “Crowley, dear, it’s alright.”

“No, no no, please,” Crowley whispered, staring ahead straight through Aziraphale. “T-They killed my best friend, no, please!”

_ Oh _ . Well, at least things made a little more sense. Crowley had refused to talk about the bookshop burning down once he got his angel back, never saying anything other than that it had happened. Any pressing of the subject and Crowley would fold into himself, silent for the rest of the evening. 

Aziraphale put the book down and crouched in front of Crowley, reaching out to grab his shaking hands. “Dear, it’s alright, I’m here,” he murmured in the calmest tone he could manage. “I’m right here, Crowley. Remember, I came back. It was just a little spark, dear, I’m alright. Everything's alright.”

Crowley gripped his hands, eyes a little less foggy. “A-Angel?”

“Yes, dear. It’s me, we’re alright. There’s no fire, just a little spark from that silly candle.” He pulled Crowley’s to his face, pressing them against the sides of his face in an attempt to get through the fog of memories in the demon’s mind with simple contact. 

Crowley blinked a few times, shook his head, and crumpled. His forehead fell against Aziraphale’s chest as if for support. A terrible keening sound erupted from Crowley with a harsh sob. 

Aziraphale dropped his hands to lift Crowley’s face up to see tears running down. “Oh,  _ Crowley _ . What’s wrong? Tell me, if you can. Did something happen?”

“I thought…” he trailed off with a sob. “Thought I lost you angel. I thought it was hellfire, that you were gone, I didn’t- angel…”

“I had no idea,” Aziraphale whispered. He knew Crowley was upset when he found him at that bar, of course, but he hadn’t known it was  _ that _ bad. They’d had to move on with stopping Armageddon and by the time Crowley told him his bookshop had burned down he seemed over it by then. It had been restored then, thanks to Adam, and nothing had ever had to be said about what happened there. 

Now, well… now he had to. Aziraphale couldn’t  _ bear _ to see Crowley hurting so. 

He pulled them both back to the couch and turned his body to face Crowley. “Tell me, dear. I want to help, you know that, but you have to tell me. I wasn’t there, after all.”

Crowley took a shuddering breath before he spoke, his long hair covering his face. “I don’t… I don’t know how it started, probably a candle or something. Had to apologize, come back again to try to get you to leave with me. Couldn’t just leave you there, y’know?”

“Oh. I can’t imagine…” Aziraphale looked around him. 

“No, you probably can’t,” Crowley replied. His breath caught, for a moment, tears threatening to spill over again for a brief moment. “I couldn’t sense you, nothing at all. I could before, like in Paris or the Blitz. There’s always been this angelic  _ force _ around. I couldn’t even feel it. Not a single blessed  _ hint _ . I thought I lost you and I hadn’t even said anything”

Having to think about  _ that _ day was bad enough for Crowley. The flames were all he could see out of the corner of his eye even though he  _ knew _ his angel was safe, that nobody would be coming after them again, but he still couldn’t just bloody let it go. Aziraphale was here, safe and sound and all that crap, right across from him. 

Aziraphale suddenly reached forward for a tight embrace, gripping Crowley as if his life depended on it. “Love, I promise I won’t be going anywhere. You have me now. I don’t think you’ll be able to get rid of me now.”

Crowley held onto his angel, tucked his head into his neck, and let himself cry until there was no more left. Aziraphale maneuvered them into lying down on the sofa with Crowley hanging over him. They stayed there until the next morning. There wasn’t any need for moving, not after all that. 


	10. Day 10: Body Swap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale figures out what that prophecy means, and more follows. 
> 
> Sorry it's late. I backdated it for the proper day but I had to get to sleep for a quiz this morning. Let me know what you thought!

Crowley stopped in the doorway of the kitchen, tea tray in his hands, and smiled. Aziraphale looked oddly at home, sitting on the newly summoned sofa in Crowley’s living room. He stared at the scrap of paper with Agne’s prophecy on it as if that would give him the answers. Crowley set the tray down in front of him.   
“Angel, relax for a minute.” He sat beside Aziraphale, leaning back. “Have some tea, make yourself at home. We have a little time, alright?”  
Aziraphale sighed, falling back into the sofa. “We need to figure out what this means, Crowley, before they come for our heads. I know the answer, it just won’t come through.”   
“Choose your faces wisely,” Crowley muttered. “What does that even mean? Only thing I can think of is a bloody mask. You’re better at this shit, Zira. ‘S why you’re the smart one.”  
The angel was just reaching out for a cup of tea when he gasped, dropping the cup onto the carpet which was promptly cleaned up with a snap. Crowley leaned forward and reached out, mind racing. “What…”  
Aziraphale grabbed the paper, waving it in between them with a grin. “That’s it, Crowley! You’re close, at least. I was thinking too literally but you got it, dear!” He stood and began to pace around the room, almost manic. “I’m sure they’re not going to let us go, not after what we did with Armageddon.”  
“Course not,” Crowley replied. “What’s going on, angel? You’re looking a little crazy.”  
He stopped pacing around, at least, which was a little better. He sat, poured a cup of tea, and laid the scrap of paper on the coffee table. “Choose our faces wisely. We can’t go back to our Head Offices as ourselves. I wouldn’t doubt that they have holy water and hellfire awaiting us already. If we can figure out how to do this then they might leave us alone.”  
“How to do what?”  
Aziraphale grabbed his hands with a giddy smile. “We swap, or that’s the basic idea. If we looked like each other then they wouldn’t be able to harm a hair on our heads.”  
Crowley’s eyes widened, the idea sinking in. “You mean I go to Heaven as you and you go to Hell as me? Angel, how would we do that? Might explode or something.”  
“Not if we do it right.” Aziraphale looked nervous now, wringing his hands. “It’s a chance, Crowley. We’ve been around each other for all this time, haven’t we?”  
“Six thousand years.” He looked around, stopping at the Mona Lisa sketch that had held a tartan thermos for so long. There was nothing left he could use to protect them anymore. The idea, as risky as it was, did give them somewhat of a chance.   
Crowley shifted so he was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, leaning forwards. “Alright. How are we gonna do this, Aziraphale? Do you have an idea?”  
Another nervous look. “Well, I believe it would require contact, more than usual if this hasn’t happened already. I wouldn’t want to make things, well, awkward.” He began to mess with his sleeve, licking his lips for a moment, and sitting back. “We don’t have to, of course. I-I won’t ruin anything.”  
Oh, well, that’s different. Aziraphale had always been the one holding him at arm’s length but now… well, Crowley wasn’t going to refuse him. Six thousand bloody years of hoping and the end of the world did it, go figure.  
Crowley leaned closer, raising a hand to cup Aziraphale’s cheek, and smiled softly. “Angel, all you had to do was ask,” he whispered. “Can I kiss you? Seems like that might help.”  
“Of course.” Aziraphale laid his restless hands on Crowley’s arms, pulling in a deep breath. His eyes fluttered closed. Crowley leaned in while his free hand held the back of Aziraphale’s head and pressed as close as he could. The angel sighed, almost in relief, into the kiss and tightened his grip.   
In perfect unison they moved so that Crowley’s back was pressed against the arm of the sofa and a ridiculously soft pillow that definitely hadn’t been there before Aziraphale messily snapped his fingers.   
“How kind of you, angel,” Crowley murmured against said angel’s lips with a smile. He felt Aziraphale pull back and then gasp, shifting around, his weight unfamiliar somehow.   
Crowley opened his eyes slowly, blinking rapidly. Something was off. He sat up on his elbow, looked at Aziraphale, and fell backward at the sight of his own face looking back at him. He raised his hand in front of his face and stared at the manicured nails and golden ring that was not his.   
“Fuck,” he said, in a voice that sounded as if it’s owner would never say that word. “It… worked, angel. What the fuck?”  
Aziraphale, still moving weirdly as he got used to the new body, stood up and promptly fell over. Crowley, the perfect gentleman that he was, laughed. He stood a little more carefully, wobbled, and outstretched his hand to the fallen angel. Aziraphale groaned as he was pulled back up. “How on earth do you walk in this thing, dear?” he muttered. “If I do anything like that in Hell they will know it’s not you.”  
Crowley grinned, resting his hands on Aziraphale’s (his own?) hips. “Just move a bit more fluidly. I was a snake, angel, and I walk like one. Never quite got the hang of human legs. Just slink, really. Practice.”  
The angel tried to do what he said, his hips still moving at awkward angles. “Then you need to learn how to walk properly. I don’t slink about, and Gabriel isn’t that stupid.”  
“Fine,” the demon muttered. “Just good enough that they don’t suspect anything. In and out as quick as we can, angel. I’d rather not be there for very long. Been 6,000 years, you know, I’ll bloody get lost. Gabriel never had any imagination. Sure everything’s different.”  
Aziraphale paused in his round of the carpet. “Oh. I hadn’t thought… You haven’t been there since your Fall,” he whispered. “Oh, my dear. Will you be alright up there?”  
Crowley shrugged. “Sure. I get to show Gabriel exactly how wrong he is about you. It’ll be wonderful,” he said with a grin. Then, having completed a walk across the floor, cheered. “That enough like you, Aziraphale? Think I’ve almost got the hang of it.”  
“I think you can fool them so long as you’re careful.” Aziraphale walked over to him, or rather swaggered. “How am I, then? Enough of a snake?”  
It was a bit weird to be looking at himself, of course, but nothing he couldn’t deal with. Crowley smiled, pressing their foreheads together with a sigh. “Yeah. Think we’ll survive.”  
Aziraphale nodded. “Good. As long as I get to keep you, love.”


	11. Day 11: Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crepes get our angel into trouble and Crowley must save him, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so tired. We had an event with the alumni of the marching band tonight and a flag football game (since we had to forfeit the actual game) and it was so looong but so much fun. I'm a bit sad that it's the end for the band and that I won't get to go to an alumni band event one day, but it was still worth it. I'll miss some of these people/

You’d think angels would have some sort of defense mechanism thingy to get them out of a dangerous situation, right? It would make more sense if She had done that. But of course God has never worked in a way that wasn’t ineffable. 

Aziraphale’s form of defense when he got himself into a bad situation was Crowley. 

Like right now, for instance. The last time Crowley had seen the angel they had both been in London, Aziraphale preparing to open his bookshop and Crowley lazing around waiting for an order for a temptation. He’d received an order from Hell, gone and done it, and returned to find Aziraphale nowhere in reach. He’d taken one step into his home when a feeling like something crushing his chest brought him to his knees. 

“Shit,” he choked out, mind racing even as he knew. Somehow, he knew. It was like a cruel joke from Mother almost six thousand years after She tossed him out. Doing this to him, like this, leaving it up to him. 

He always hated teleportation, most of all the queasy feeling in his stomach. This time was worse from the distance. Crowley stumbled when he landed in the alleyway, hitting the wall with a force that knocked the wind out of him. He definitely wasn’t in England, that he was sure of. Looking around showed him a flag shoved behind a crate, three stripes of blue, white and red messily sewn together. 

France. In the middle of a revolution. Of course. 

“Where are you, angel?” he muttered. He rounded the corner, grunting when the feeling got stronger and more like a bloody elephant was sitting on his chest, and stopped when he recognized the foreboding building looming up ahead. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Crowley snapped, gritting his teeth, only letting his breath out once he was in a cell. The human in said cell looked right through him and turned back to the actual prisoner, sitting primly on the bench in stupid fancy clothes and  _ oh god that’s my idiot _ . 

“Animals,” Aziraphale muttered, glancing around him. He didn’t even notice the executioner freezing behind him, or the sounds of the guillotine stopping in the background.

“Animals don’t kill each other with clever machines, angel,” he drawled. “Only humans do that.”

Aziraphale’s expression when he turned around shouldn’t have been as endearing as it was, really. “ _ Crowley _ .” He looked Crowley up and down, murmuring, “Really.”

Crowley stood, walking over. “What the deuce are you doing locked up in the Bastille? I thought you were opening up your bloody bookshop.”

“If you  _ must _ know,” the angel replied in a tone that was probably meant to sound annoyed but just sounded like he was waiting for someone to ask. “I got a little peckish. The only good crepes are in Paris, you know. And the brioche,” he added. 

_ What the actual fuck? _

“So you went to Paris, in the middle of a revolution, for crepes? Couldn’t you have just miracled yourself out of here?”

Aziraphale looked guilty, playing with the manacles. “I got reprimanded last month. Too many frivolous miracles. Gabriel was  _ very _ clear about that.”

“Seriously, angel? That’s not that much of a bad thing. My lot does not send rude notes, you know. You’re lucky to get away with this.” He stomped over and snapped his fingers, the manacles falling to the floor. Aziraphale rubbed his wrists where they’d been restrained. He looked up again. 

“Would it make you feel better if I promised to be careful?”

Crowley scoffed, gesturing at his incredibly posh outfit. “Not in that bloody outfit you’re not. Dressing like that, angel, there’s no way you didn’t expect this to happen.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes and snapped, now suddenly wearing the executioner's outfit and the executioner wearing his. He didn’t look like an aristocrat anymore, at least. The hat that kept sliding down the angel’s face was way too distracting. 

They watched as the executioner was dragged away, yelling his innocence. “What next, angel?”

Aziraphale grinned. “What would you say to some  _ crepes _ ?” he suggested. Crowley groaned, leading them out. They would go for crepes, obviously, he just liked dragging it out.

They miraculously avoided getting caught anywhere in the city, any fighting far on the other side of town. Aziraphale dragged him into the first open shop he saw, grinning like a child being given a bag of candy. He returned with an armful of the things and one in his mouth. Crowley nabbed one with a mischievous grin. All except one survived the trip back to London. That one got eaten right away. 

“Stop at the bookshop for a nightcap, dear?”

Crowley stole another crepe and shrugged, avoiding Aziraphale’s hand when it reached over to smack his shoulder. “Why not. I don’t have any evening plans tonight anyhow. Got something good?”

“I’m sure there’s something to rustle up in the shop,” the angel replied with a knowing grin. “It’s been too long, Crowley.”

The bookshop was beginning to come together, shelves up and filled with books already. They were neat and tidy, which wouldn’t last long knowing Aziraphale, and there was a brand new sofa towards the back of the shop. There was a tartan blanket laid out over it that Crowley glared at. 

“Only been a couple years.” 

Aziraphale sighed, bringing up a bottle of wine from downstairs. Two glasses were already sitting by the sofa ready and waiting. Crowley fell onto the sofa, snapping his hair down into a messy ponytail. It wasn’t at all comfortable but it  _ was _ fashionable, and fashion was important for someone like Crowley. Aziraphale might be happy keeping the same style for forever but Crowley wanted to stay up with fashion. It was interesting, anyways. 

The wine poured for hours uncountable, conversation began to flow as it always did. Aziraphale ended up slumping sideways on his chair, holding a book he was not reading in his hands. Crowley sat and watched him with a soft smile. He couldn’t o much more, not yet. Hell wouldn’t just send him a rude note, and he wouldn’t risk Aziraphale incurring Heaven’s wrath. It was not fun to be on the receiving end of that. 

Oh, he would have to say something one day. Once he was done saving the angel, perhaps. It might take a while, but he would. 

One day. 


	12. Day 12: Crowley's flat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long day and confessions abound.

Crowley was glad Aziraphale understood the prophecy from book girls’ ancestor because he definitely did not. The bus arrived then, only slightly confused as to its route, and the two of them climbed on. He stared out of the window away from Aziraphale. Not that anything was wrong. Crowley just wasn’t sure where to go from here.

“Ngk,” was all he could manage when Aziraphale, looking the other way, reached over to Crowley’s hand and grabbed it. They looked at each other for a moment. Crowley swallowed nervously. He flipped his hand over, gripping Aziraphale’s hand as if it would keep keep the angel in his reach forever. He would  _ not _ lose him again.

Aziraphale looked down at their entwined hands with a fond smile. “My dear, I think,” he paused. “I think I wouldn’t mind staying at your place tonight, after all. We need to do something about this prophecy anyway.”

“Yeah,” Crowley rasped. The rest of the ride home passed in silence for the most part. Crowley leaned against the window and closed his eyes. A nap sounded nice right about then, actually. 

The now very confused bus driver stopped outside Crowley’s Mayfair flat, where the two got out. Aziraphale waved at the driver, sending him back home on a nice quiet ride. Crowley rolled his eyes and led them up the stairs. He quickly dashed in to snap away the Ligur-puddle but found his office as clean as it had been before Hell had come visiting. 

Huh. Odd. 

“It’s a very nice place,” Aziraphale said, walking up behind him. “Perfectly your style, I think.”

Crowley snapped up a cozy couch in the next-door room, complete with a tartan blanket across the back. “It’s just a place to sleep, really. Go and sit, angel. I’ll get something to drink, okay? Relax.” Aziraphale looked as if he wanted to fight it for a moment before he nodded and walked into the other room, looking back for a moment before he spotted the couch and the blanket with a delightful sound. 

“You didn’t have to do this for me, dear,” Aziraphale murmured when Crowley returned with a wine bottle and two glasses. The demon froze for a second at the look of pure and utter adoration, his unneeded heart skipping a beat. Had Aziraphale always looked at him like that? He would have noticed it, but maybe… Maybe he hadn’t been paying attention. They were always so worried about being caught that it might not have occurred to either of them that the other cared too. 

Crowley barely managed to put the bottle down with the way he was shaking. “Y-Yeah, angel, I know. Just thought it’d make you more comfortable. Since you’re staying here tonight. Not that you have to stay out here all night, but y’know.”

Aziraphale didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands while Crowley filled the two glasses and handed one to him. There was something hanging over them, something that threatened to burst like a bubble. They simply drank, like they always did. 

“Well, there is this prophecy to figure out, Crowley.” He smoothed the prophecy out between them with a sigh, then speaking in a whisper. “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t imagine how you felt… well, you know.”

“Ngk,” Crowley replied. “I mean, er, yeah. I wouldn’t want you to feel like that. Wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Thought I lost you for good, angel.”

Aziraphale set his glass of wine down and turned to the demon. “Oh, my dear boy,” he murmured, reaching up to hold Crowley’s face and wipe away the tears he hadn’t known he’d shed. “I had no idea. You’ve been hurting so all this time, I’m so sorry.”

They might not have been talking about just that day anymore, Crowley realized. “I’ll be alright, angel. I’ve got you now, won’t be letting go if I can help it, anyways. ‘S fine, Aziraphale. We just have to make it through tomorrow, right? Get rid of those bastards.”

“Of course.”

Crowley spun his now empty glass in his fingers, staring at it instead of at the angel. He knew what would happen if he met Aziraphale’s gaze, what he would see. What both of them would see in the other’s eyes. He’d been told he went too fast the last time he tried that, felt like he’d been burned. They’d only just recovered from that stumble in their relationship. No need to add another. 

But he looked up, anyways, despite a voice in his mind screaming not to. He never did listen to that voice, the one that told him not to ask questions, the one that told him not to follow his brother no matter how much sense Lucifer made, the voice that cried out when Gabriel tossed him out and Micheal turned away as if their little brother meant nothing. Crowley had never listened. Not Before, and certainly not now. He looked up into Aziraphale’s eyes which shone now with a feeling that had always been there but that he hadn’t let himself recognize in fear of being turned away. 

“Angel…” he whispered, helpless. What else could he say?

Aziraphale smiled, impossibly soft, and said in an equally soft voice, “You don’t have to worry about going too fast anymore, love.” And with that simple sentence Crowley _ broke _ in the best way. He raised his hands to rest them on top of Aziraphale’s while his mind raced. 

“Angel.” His voice cracked. He sighed. “Angel, what… I didn’t know how you felt.”

Crowley could have discorperated when Aziraphale leaned up to press a kiss against his forehead and sat back with a warm smile full of Love. “I wasn’t ready then. I knew what they would do to you if they found out and I couldn’t lose you, Crowley.” He paused then, only for a moment. “I’ve loved you for so long, dear. I just couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.”

“How long?” Crowley croaked out. His mind raced, trying to figure out when Aziraphale had started loving him, a fact that had yet to properly sink in. He hadn’t even noticed somehow. Hadn’t even noticed that the angel was in love with him. 

“I realized it in 1941, at that church,” Aziraphale replied. “I’m not quite sure when I started.”

Crowley thought back to that moment 77 years ago when he’d handed a bag of books over with a smile and a tip of his hat. “Then… Angel, that’s barely eighty years. I’ve been in love with you for six thousand bloody  _ years _ .”

“Oh. Why so long?”

“You gave that sword away to the humans. That’s what bloody did it, Aziraphale. You disobeyed Her and got away with it when I hadn’t and for some blessed reason I fell in love with you on the spot instead of being angry,” he said in a rush of breath, leaning forward. Aziraphale opened his mouth, closed it again, sighed, and moved a hand to the back of Crowley’s head to pull the demon as close as he could. 

Crowley squeaked into the sudden kiss, not that he would ever admit it. He slid his hands around Aziraphale’s waist and grinned at the surprised noise he got from that. Revenge, sort of. It distracted him from the warm taste of wine and the heady feeling he was getting from being kissed by an angel. 

“Six,”  _ kiss _ “thousand,”  _ kiss _ “bloody,”  _ kiss _ “years, angel.” 

“We have all the time in the world now, love.” Aziraphale was still smiling, positively giddy and practically debauched, hair mussed and lips kiss-red. Crowley groaned, burying his face in the angel’s chest for a moment, then looked up. He gestured behind him, towards the rest of the flat and the bedroom. 

“M not suggesting anything,” he muttered. “But I’ve gotten used to sleep, you know, and it’s been a long day. You could stay in there. With me, instead of out here on the couch. Be more comfortable, anyways.”

Aziraphale stood and held a hand out. “Lead the way, dear.” Crowley grabbed his hand and didn’t let go until they were standing in his bedroom. He snapped one pair of black pajamas on and another pair, these ones tartan, into existence and held them out. Aziraphale laughed even as he put them on and walked around the other side of the bed to crawl under the covers. Crowley stood and watched as if frozen as the angel made himself comfortable until Aziraphale reached out with a soft smile. 

He crawled under the covers and over into Aziraphale’s warm arms, burrowing into his soft chest with a contented sigh. It was much nicer to be like this, he’d decided. Definitely worth the whole Armageddon business if it meant he got to cuddle an angel at the end. 


End file.
